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Raevina knew that. It would be both slow and agonizing. None of their antidotes seemed to counteract the poison. The most they managed to do was slow the spread until it faded or the Fae died.
Gods, it couldn’t have happened at a more inopportune time. “Can we cover the scent of it?” She didn’t need those loyal to her father knowing she was injured. That’d only make her a target.
Cahira studied the gash, prodding at the already reddened skin around the area. “I can get some herbs that will help, but if anyone gets too close . . .”
“We’ll make sure they don’t.” Raevina was taking her own warriors to Ruadhán, too. A unit she trusted with her life. They’d sooner die than betray her. The rest . . . well, they’d stop at nothing to impress her father, and killing the High Lord’s daughter was a quick way to display strength. He disgusted her.
Sarcasm flooded her tone. “Maybe if the female really is The Divine, she can just heal me.”
Cahira paused. “You shouldn’t doubt so much.”
Raevina lifted a brow. “I didn’t realize you were a believer.”
“I think it’s been a long time since we had any hope.”
“For good reason.” Hope was dangerous. A crutch for those unable to carve their own path.
“Two countries putting their trust in something is a lot to discard as a mere rumor. Have a little faith.”
“I have faith in myself, my companions, and the things I can see with my own eyes.”
“And if she turns out to be legitimate?”
Raevina furrowed her brow but didn’t answer. The Divine. Fiadh’s sole purpose had been to protect the previous one and they’d failed. Residing in the mountains was often thought to be their punishment.
“Then maybe I’ll get the chance to restore my family’s honor.”
But that chance was little more than a shimmering dream and Raevina had stopped believing in dreams a long, long time ago.
Chapter Sixteen
Saoirse
Saoirse collapsed onto the plush sofa and plopped her boots on the wooden table, knocking back another glass of amber liquid. She winced and smacked her lips, feeling the burn glide down her throat.
Zylah. The name tasted like warm honey on her tongue and Saoirse cursed herself for ever owning a slave a day in her life. She should have taken a stand with Rion; maybe the two of them could have changed things for those in Brónach. Then maybe, just maybe, that female would have given her a chance.
She shook her head, sat forward, and poured another glass. Saoirse studied the liquid and her reflection in it. How many times had she turned away from a half-breed’s plight, deeming them nothing better than the rug she walked upon? How many times had she seen the foul way they were treated and ignored it despite how she treated her own?
She could have put rules in place, implemented policies for the longevity of their care.
And she’d done absolutely nothing.
Her mind summoned the memory of Zylah’s disgusted face. The way the female had stared at her reminded Saoirse of the way everyone glared at her younger brother. A hatred so deep it would take an absolute miracle to cure.
Even Arianna was rumored to have scars around her wrists, which meant their world was about to change. Slavery would become a thing of the past. History books would be written by souls like Zylah and they’d pen the Fae of old as cruel, wicked beings.
And maybe they deserved to be labeled as such.
She drank the glass and let her head fall back on the pillows.
Could she redeem herself in the eyes of that female? A rueful smile crossed her face and Saoirse closed her eyes, succumbing to the buzzing in her head.
Probably not, but perhaps it was worth it to try. For the female who reminded her of sunrises and the fresh windswept plains of the southlands, she would try.
Chapter Seventeen
Arianna
